Rain, Rain, Go Away
by Wearyofthesea
Summary: … Please come back another day.


Rain, Rain, Go Away

Chapter 1: Chrysalism - n. the amniotic tranquillity of being indoors during a thunderstorm.

Saying Gotham isn't a nice place to live would be an understatement. Even if many areas have been revitalised, much of the outskirts of this fair city were still in ruins from the earthquake a few years back, leaving many of the previously wealthy areas the broken homes of the poor and while efforts are being made to reach these areas, they are not a priority. Petty crime is more prevalent in these places, however, no inch of the city is immune to the… peculiar band of costumed criminals that've made their homes here, though it wouldn't be particularly pleasant in the absence of the Rogue Gallery either. The city is such a dreary place it's surprising that anyone can find it habitable at all, the sun being so rare that there was truly no point in so much as considering solar panels, and dark clouds smothered the sky for most of the year, whether it was going to rain or not.

These past three months have been leaning heavily towards favouring rain and anyone who looked out of a window this morning would insist you cancel any plans that involve going outdoors. Luckily for the Scarecrow, his To-Do list consisted solely of chemistry for the time being, working on a new and improved fear toxin always took time and he enjoyed the process of creating just as much as the use.

Currently, he sits cross legged on a dark wooden desk, in a desolate room at the top of an old office building, crumbling on one side but rather solid and dry on the other, perfect to hold up in for the time being. The rain acts as soothing background noise as he works, hunched over his notebook and scribbling words like a demon on a mission, looking up every now and again to look at the single papers strewn about further in front of him, checking previous formulas and their effects. Jonathan suddenly sits upright in reaction to the first crack of thunder reverberating somewhere outside.

Stretching and trying not to wince at the very audible crack, he decides a break is in order, then promptly lies down flat with his legs dangling off the desk. As much as he liked working to the sounds of the storm, letting his mind clear while he appreciates the rain might do him some good, he'd been working himself to the bone the past few weeks after all.

He lets his attention drift from the notebook to the walls; to the pealing once-white cream illuminating with light every few minutes and despite not being comfortable at all, he can't help but feel some semblance of cosy in this dilapidated structure, the storm raging on and undoubtedly beating down on some poor sucker making their way through the streets while he was nice and dry with no plans of leaving his current safe haven. It's enough to warm the cavity where Jonathan's heart would be if he had one.

Although, he can't help but notice how quiet everything would be without the storm, and a little part in the back of his head misses the Mad Hatter's antics. As per the norm, after a plan gone wrong, he'd gotten himself stuck back in Arkham and Jonathan tells himself he can't remember how long Tetch has been gone, as if he hadn't been counting the days with mounting frustration.

He'd gotten very used to the Hatter's visits, or 'impromptu tea parties' as Tetch called them, to the point that he'd had become unnerved by the long stretches of silence his days were built up of when Tetch wasn't dropping in unannounced every day. Jonathan wished the "revolving-door-policy" the press claimed Arkham had was actually in place, a game of chess almost made the idea of getting caught again appealing. Almost.

With a sigh, Jonathan remembers why he'd been so single-minded with his experiments these past weeks. His gaze is drawn, for the first time in a long time, to the dusty window across the room. The silly caricature of his friend he'd drawn on the glass with his finger welcomed his attention, and a renewed worry bite at his lungs again. It was so uncharacteristically childish of him, he didn't fully know why he'd done it, exhausted and bored and missing Tetch, but it made him recall a very old truth sat in the back of his mind, one that he was… _afraid _to confront. From a young age he knew nothing good could come of it, so it had shoved into an isolated mental closet and left to collect cobwebs, for his own safety.

_Pain, pain, go away, don't come back another day… I should have more control over myself than this! _

He needed to get back to work, anything to get his mind off Tetch, with more vigour than he had, now back in his previous position, Jonathan grabs the notebook and pen back off the desk and glares at his own writing like it had insulted his crows. And it works for a little while, almost two hours pass before the thoughts creep back in, and by that point he'd hit a wall with his research anyway, he'd need another test subject soon, he had too many questions about this modification that needed answering. In the meantime, working isn't working for him anymore and he doesn't know what else to do.

Maybe it would help if he whipped away that ridiculous drawing… but something from a non-existent place in his chest tells him not to, and he hates that he has to comply. Instead, Jonathan focuses his attention on the crevices in his desk, too old and worn to be smooth, likely why it had been abandoned but Jonathan didn't spare that much thought, whoever's loss is his gain. A grin splits his face as this realisation dawns, and a terrible joke occurs to him:

_I don't know much about ravens, but Scarecrow's apparently likes writing desks. _Which is immediately followed by… _Damn it, Tetch, what are you doing to me?_


End file.
